


It Always Happens This Way

by SeventhStrife



Series: AAC: 2017 [8]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Businessman Sephiroth, Chance Meetings, Don't copy to another site, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24288049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventhStrife/pseuds/SeventhStrife
Summary: Slip & Slide AUWhile Character A is rushing home, they accidentally slip on a patch of ice and go skidding straight into Character B, causing them both to fall. Character B’s forehead starts bleeding, and Character A panics, insisting that Character B comes inside so that Character A can patch them up.A simple walk home has no business being this eventful.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Series: AAC: 2017 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/887142
Comments: 8
Kudos: 139
Collections: AUideas Advent Calendar: 2017





	It Always Happens This Way

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine my surprise when I, swept in a post-Remake euphoria, start going through my old FFVII drafts and see this in my AAC2017 folder—already completed! I guess I wrote it years ago and just—didn't post it?! OTL

Sephiroth is perhaps not as careful as he should have been walking on an icy sidewalk in the heart of winter, but in his defense, he desperately wants to go home.

Work is stressful, tedious, and arduous at the best of times. Today, however, every single person Sephiroth interacts with on a normal basis seems to have met in secret the night before and unanimously agreed to be as _incompetent_ as possible.  
  
From his secretary losing the contact information of a new, major broker, to being reprimanded for a clerical error that _wasn't even his fault,_ Sephiroth has had quite enough with the world at large. Not to mention, the break room's coffee machine had been broken, which should be a capital offense. Exhaustion doesn't begin to cover it.

So, Sephiroth isn't exactly mapping out each step carefully as he takes them. He's got his face buried beneath his scarf, hands tucked deep into his pockets, elbows locked and shoulders nearly to his ears in a pathetic attempt to block the wind. Luckily, the office isn't far from home, and walking between the two is only a few minutes delay. Soon, he'll be within safe, familiar walls, where interns won't hound him at all hours with inane questions, and he won't have to pretend that he doesn't do enough work that his salary really should be doubled. He doesn't have to be polite, or patient, or forgiving. He can be himself, chug half a bottle of ibuprofen, and cook himself a decent meal.

It's while Sephiroth is mentally reviewing his available ingredients and deciding between curry and oven-grilling that his foot slides in a nausea-inducing lurch, knocking his entire center of balance off.

Eyes wide, Sephiroth throws an arm out to steady himself, but there's nothing there, of course. He's outdoors, on a public sidewalk, there's hardly going to be a _handrail._ He looks up, thinking to gauge his next step, and stares straight into bright blue eyes.

Eyes he's on a _direct_ collision course with. There's no time to shout a warning. One moment, he sees the eyes widen, and the next, pain explodes all along his front, and then immediately at his back, where he's fallen— _hard._

Sephiroth bites back a curse, only because he's not alone and doesn't want to offend. And that's when he remembers that he's not alone because he just _plowed_ into some random stranger.

Wincing, he levers himself up, feeling a muscle twinge; he's definitely pulled something. But, more importantly—

"Are you okay?"

The other person is sprawled face down on the concrete, and for a moment Sephiroth thinks he's killed him. It wouldn't even surprise him on a day like today. 

But, no, the person groans and picks himself up. His face is fair, with delicate features and spiky blonde hair. He looks dazed, eyes unfocused as they roam around their surroundings. _Concussion,_ Sephiroth's mind supplies, and he frowns, annoyed with himself for being so careless.

The young man sits up, bracing himself on the pavement, and Sephiroth mirrors him, alarmed. He hovers, hands just barely touching the stranger's shoulders.

"Careful," he cautions, worried. 

The young man blinks and raises his head fully, blue eyes meeting Sephiroth's. 

He's...an arresting picture, Sephiroth has to admit. Certainly attractive and a little innocent in appearance, but he can feel the corded strength in his arms and knows looks can be deceiving.

All those thoughts disappear, however, when a thick, bright red line of blood drips from beneath the blond fringe, trailing past the temple and down his cheek. A drop falls from his chin, and Sephiroth sucks in a sharp breath as it falls into the snow, a perfect red dot.

"You're injured." Guilt makes Sephiroth squirm internally. "I apologize."

The young man reaches up, wincing as he brushes over his wound. He pushes his hair enough to reveal an angry-red, thankfully small, scrape. His fingers come away bloody and he stares at them with apparent fascination.

"Are...are you okay?" The young man is being surprisingly non-verbal for someone who was just accosted on the street.

Those beautiful blue eyes focus on him once more. "Oh. Yes. I'm fine." 

He starts to step forward, away and past Sephiroth, but Sephiroth stops him with a raised hand, incredulous.

"You're bleeding."  
  
A confused expression meets his statement. "...It'll stop eventually."

Sephiroth stares, at a loss, but the other man doesn't crack a smile, doesn't say, 'just kidding, I'm going to the hospital right now so a health care professional can assess me for any internal injuries'. He just watches _Sephiroth,_ like he doesn't understand _his_ concern.

This strange staring contest continues until Sephiroth forces himself to stop gaping.

"Here," Sephiroth slips his hand beneath his coat and into his suit jacket, fishing out his pocket square. It's hardly on anyone's approved list of materials, but as he doesn't regularly carry a first aid kit, it will have to do. He wads the fabric until it's about half an inch thick, and offers it.

Tentatively, the young man accepts it, pressing it to his forehead with a minute wince. He looks up at Sephiroth. 

"Thank you."

Sephiroth doesn't respond, too busy being wary. Is he acting this way because he truly is concussed, or is this... _normal_ for him? The trail of blood on his face shines in the sunlight and Sephiroth suddenly has the overwhelming urge to do— _something_ for this lost, unassuming person.

"Will you take care of this when you get home?"

A shrug. "This is fine."

"You need proper bandages and disinfectant. Possibly alcohol."

"Mm."

"Will you at least go to a clinic? Have someone check you out?"

That adorable nose wrinkles. "Sounds like a hassle."

Sephiroth can't believe how carelessly his own injury, however minor, is being treated. He doesn't even know why he _cares,_ attractive man or not, but he does. Clearly, he's losing his edge.

"Look." Sephiroth scrubs a hand over his face, hating how his next words are going to make him sound. "I live right around the corner. I can treat you there if you'd like." The young man stares and Sephiroth shifts, discomforted and vaguely embarrassed. "I know how that must sound, but I promise I don't have any ulterior motives—"

"Okay."

"—and I would never—what?"

Those blue eyes didn't blink. "Okay."

"Er...right. This way, then."

The walk is silent, filled with nothing but the furtive glances Sephiroth shoots his companion. There's something not quite right about him, and it's setting off more than a few alarms. Nothing that makes him feel unsafe—Sephiroth is more than capable of protecting himself—but it lingers nonetheless. He's very aware of how abnormal the young man's reactions are.

"What's your name?"

"Hm...Cloud. Yeah, Cloud." Cloud nods to himself, like he's made a decision, and Sephiroth shoots him a bewildered look. What in the world is going on in that head of his?

Sephiroth's apartment comes into view and the sight is a relief, no matter the current circumstances. He leads Cloud inside, holding open the lobby doors, and punches the penthouse floor when they're both tucked into an elevator. Cloud doesn't bat an eye, which is...refreshing. Most people give him a bit of a side-eye, either impressed or judgemental, but living on the top floor isn't a matter of vanity, but sanity. He can't abide by stomping.

"You can leave your shoes by the door. Here, let me take your coat."

Cloud's easily ushered out of his heavy coat and boots. He stares at his surroundings with mild curiosity, blue eyes darting over his small, modern kitchen, his seldom-used table—currently an unofficial filing cabinet—and his living room, decorated sparsely yet tastefully. The far wall has two large windows, almost big enough to be doors in their own right, and they offer a spectacular view of the city, as well as a good source of natural light.

"I like your home," Cloud murmurs, appreciative. 

The funny thing is, Sephiroth believes him. While others would be intimidated, or eager to please once they saw how he lived, Cloud just seems to genuinely like it. Sephiroth feels pleased, and foolish for caring about the opinion of a stranger.

Sephiroth inclines his head in acknowledgment. "Wait here a moment."

He's not prone to accidents or injury, so his bathroom cabinet only holds the bare essentials—bandages, a little gauze, some disinfectant. He frowns and makes a mental note to stock up on better first aid tools. For now, though, they'll have to do. He runs some water, waiting for it to warm, and wets a washcloth.

When he comes back into his living room, Cloud is poking at his small bookshelf. He looks up at Sephiroth's entrance.

"Have you read all of these?" 

"I have." Most are non-fiction texts, related to his studies, but the ones Cloud is looking at are the few that he's picked just for himself, for the snatches of times work lessens its toll and he has the freedom to do as he wishes. It doesn't happen very often, and seeing someone brush their fingers along their spines, picking one at random to leaf through, feels oddly...intimate.

Sephiroth clears his throat. Cloud looks up again, and Sephiroth gestures with his burden. "It will just take a moment."

Cloud slips the poetry book back into its spot and meets Sephiroth at the couch. Sephiroth sets aside everything but the washcloth, and gingerly raises a hand to push back the blond bangs from the wounded forehead.

At the first brush of his fingers, Cloud's eyes fall shut. His face betrays nothing but peace, marred only by the occasional wince as Sephiroth dabs at the scrape. He seems completely unbothered by a stranger's touch. Sephiroth was simply going to bandage his forehead, but with Cloud being so pliant, he ventures to wipe his face, too, clearing it of the bloody trails that divided his face into gruesome halves.

Cloud sighs slightly and the faint, content sound makes Sephiroth stop his ministrations, bemused.

Cloud's eyes flutter open in confusion, looking up at Sephiroth with concern. His eyes are such a clear, crystal blue as they stare at him. It's almost obscene how attractive he is. 

"Who are you?" Sephiroth asks. This person—he doesn't make sense. No one trusts a stranger so immediately, so fully.

Cloud frowns. "I'm Cloud," he says, as if he's worried for Sephiroth's mental state.

"No—I meant—" Sephiroth sighs in frustration, dropping his hands. "How are you so—calm?"

Cloud only looks more confused. "Isn't it obvious?" When Sephiroth just stares blankly, his brow furrows. "I—You can't see them?"

"See what?"  
  
Cloud rolls his shoulders oddly, head slightly tilted, and then, in a sudden flash of light, _wings_ burst from his back. They seem as if they're made of light, shining a bright gold. 

Sephiroth _leaps_ back, crushing himself against the end of the couch. He can't tear his eyes away, and he can't form words. His mouth just opens and closes over and over again, uselessly.

"Sorry," Cloud apologizes ruefully. "I'm still getting used to this whole thing."

"Whole thing..." Sephiroth echoes faintly. 

"Yeah," he agrees conversationally, "Being around humans."

Sephiroth only spends a few seconds staring at this man, this pretty man with gorgeous blue eyes and honest to Gaia wings. And then he stands, expression blank.

"Yes, all right," he says easily. "Goodbye."

Sephiroth refuses to look back, only marches straight to his room. He doesn't bother getting undressed and slips beneath the covers, eyes firmly shut.

"What are you doing?" Cloud asks. 

"I'm clearly having a mental breakdown due to over-exhaustion," Sephiroth explains. "And I'd appreciate it if my hallucination would be quiet so that I can rest."

"Oh. I see." Cloud sounds amused. It's quiet then, and despite all the excitement, Sephiroth can feel himself slowly but surely relaxing into his pillow. "I'll just help myself to some food while I wait for you to wake up, okay?"

Sephiroth firmly pretends he doesn't hear that, and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [C'est Toujours À Recommencer.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXpmR4V78Fo)


End file.
